A Heart of Blood and Ashes

by Milla Vane

  Her explanation would seem a pitiful excuse, no matter how true.

  But Yvenne had never thought to tell the warriors that her knee had been shattered. Her limp and the pain seemed ever-present, so it never occurred to her that they believed saddle soreness was the only reason for her stiffness and hobbling. Unlike the pain of riding, however, her limp would never go away—and although on good days Yvenne could move quickly and smoothly, never would she be able to run again. At such a pace, her leg would buckle after the third or fourth step.

  And Banek—who had shown her such kindness and upon whose guidance she had come to rely—had not spoken to her since they had left the ruins. None of the warriors had.

  Because she had not run and Maddek’s mare would die for it.

  If they learned now that she was crippled, what would they do? When Banek had spoken of Queen Venys’s moonstone eyes, he’d looked upon Yvenne’s eyes with admiration. Would he still after learning the truth? For even if Yvenne ate heartily and learned to ride well, never would she be a warrior-queen. Before her knee had been shattered, every day her mother made Yvenne race back and forth across their tower chamber until her lungs were completely spent. It was the strongest she’d ever been. Yet if she’d attempted then to do what Maddek did now—run beside his mare without once stopping—she’d have collapsed breathless at the side of the road before they’d even passed out of sight of the ruins.

  And when Maddek had spoken of the uselessness of a lame horse, she’d believed he already knew about her knee and was simply thoughtless. But perhaps he would leave her at the next village as he would her gelding, so she would not be called upon to do anything more strenuous than her body could tolerate.

  If so, they could soon be rid of her. Around them stretched verdant fields of cultivated grain. Ahead lay a village ringed by a stone wall.

  It was larger than any of the other settlements they’d passed through. At each village, Yvenne never seemed to see enough—she was fascinated by everything that she’d only known from her mother’s descriptions. The clay-walled homes with their thatched roofs were just as her mother had said, but Yvenne had not known the rich scent of plowed earth or baking bread. She had not known the sound of children laughing as they’d run beside the Parsathean horses, or their delighted screams when the warriors teased them with mock growls and bared teeth. She’d never imagined that everyone would come out of their homes and to the edges of their fields to watch the warriors pass, or how even the most welcoming and curious villagers regarded them with wary faces. And her mother had never told her about the fear and hope and disbelief in the gazes of those who met her moonstone eyes.

  But upon entering this village, Yvenne’s heart was too heavy and her throat too painfully constricted for her to find any joy or muster any interest. The sun had begun its slow slide toward the western horizon, and Maddek’s mare no longer had a spring in her step. With her hood up and head down, Yvenne looked no farther ahead than the hindquarters of Banek’s mount until they reached the inn at the center of the settlement.

  The stables were at the back of the inn. Yvenne took some comfort in the new routine of caring for her gelding. It mattered not that he had steep shoulders and a short back and unsound legs; still he needed to be fed and watered, and the rhythmic brushing of his coat soothed Yvenne as much as it seemed to soothe him.

  But the silence between the warriors did not end. It seemed even heavier within the stables, as if all the words unspoken were trapped between the thick clay walls, a deeper echo of the scream trapped within Yvenne’s chest.

  So she brushed her gelding and waited for the sound that would break the silence. A thud of steel against bone, or the plunge of a blade through flesh.

  Yet the silence broke instead with a rustle of straw beneath leather boots. With Kelir’s battle axe in hand, Maddek stood at the entrance to her gelding’s stall.

  His hardened gaze met hers, his features carved from stone. “Come.”

  Yvenne did not need to ask where. With halting steps, she followed him to the stable yard, where his mare was tied to a stout post. The horse trembled uncontrollably, eyes reddened and foamy sweat lathering her coat. Her great chest labored with each wheezing breath. A blood wraith’s poison would transform a human into a wraith, but animals were corrupted in a different manner—changed into revenants, undead creatures whose only purpose was to consume living flesh.

  So she was to witness the mare’s death. Perhaps Maddek meant to punish her, but to Yvenne this was a duty willingly performed. The mare’s life had been sacrificed for hers. That debt could never be repaid, but Yvenne would never pretend that it wasn’t owed.

  She owed the mare and she owed Maddek, who had also risked his life for hers. While he’d been racing toward her, she’d seen him make the decision—his mare or his bride.

  Yvenne had not truly expected him to choose her.

  Nor did she expect Maddek to grip the head of the axe and extend the short handle to her. Yvenne looked blankly at it for a moment before raising her gaze to his in confusion.

  “She suffers,” he said harshly. “She suffers because she ran, after you refused to. Do not refuse this.”

  Yvenne wouldn’t. She still did not know if Maddek meant to punish her or to teach her a lesson, but this was duty, too—to end the animal’s suffering—and it was not a lesson Yvenne needed to learn. Her mother had already taught her well.

  She gripped the wooden handle in both hands, then staggered as Maddek released the weapon and the heavy double blade swung toward her legs, dragging her arms straight down.

  Barely did she avoid chopping into her own shin. Straining with effort, she managed to heft the blade as high as her waist.

  But there, she had to admit defeat. “I have not the strength to swing this.”

  “Use your dagger, then.” Maddek seized the axe from her grip.

  Yvenne nodded and bent, unsheathing the jeweled dagger bound to her left leg. The mare snorted as she approached, extending her neck as if searching for a treat—perhaps because Maddek had given her so many since they had left the ruins.

  Her throat aching, Yvenne stroked the soft muzzle. Upon this mare, she had flown across a grassy plain. Upon this mare, she’d felt alive for the first time.

  Maddek came up beside her, his voice rough as he said, “The longer you wait, the more she suffers.”

  Yvenne knew. Her fingers tightened upon the dagger’s handle. Her gaze slipped over the mare’s big eyes, her soft throat.

  And she had to admit defeat again. “I cannot do this.”

  “You killed your brother easily enough.”

  True. “And I would have made his death more painful if I’d known how. But I have not a warrior’s skill. I cannot make this painless for her, and she does not deserve to suffer more than she already is. So I would give you my dagger and ask that you—”

  Like a beast unleashed, Maddek sprang with stunning, brutal swiftness. With a mighty heave of his axe, he struck the mare down.

  Her blade dangling from fingers gone limp, Yvenne stared at the animal lying on the muddied ground. The horse had not made a sound when the axe had split her skull, and now only her legs twitched feebly, the aftershocks of a body that had not yet realized it was dead.

  Axe dripping gore, Maddek said, “Wipe the blood from your face,” before striding into the stables.

  As if in a dream, she touched her cheek. Maddek’s chest and face had been splattered with crimson. So were hers.

  Using the long sleeves of her robe, she wiped at her face and slowly returned to the stables. The other warriors had left—or perhaps Maddek had sent them away so that he might have solitude. He was tending to her gelding now, lifting its feet in his big hands to scrape the mud out of its hooves, and without looking up at her, he said, “I will finish here. Go and take your meal.”

  Not yet. She studied his t
ense form and felt the silence trapped between the stable walls again, but it was not the same heavy, oppressive quiet that it had been before. Instead it twisted and writhed like the wraiths in the fog.

  “You seethe with words unsaid, warrior,” she told him.

  He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You would not want me to say these.”

  Yvenne never enjoyed being told what she did and did not want. “I thought Parsatheans never left anything unsaid.”

  “When it is important.” As if to suggest he would never have anything of importance to say to her, his dark gaze raked Yvenne from head to toe before dismissing her, focusing on the muddied hoof again. “But there are also words best left unspoken.”

  So his mother had once told her. Words that were shameful, or that delivered a wound that could not be healed—or words said in haste and anger.

  Or perhaps in grief.

  Maddek likely wished he’d left her on that stone ledge and spared his mare. “Do you truly think I will be wounded by what you would say, warrior? Well, then. Let us have it out. If we are to be married, best not to leave words unspoken between us.”

  Jaw tight, he released the gelding’s hoof and straightened. “If we are to be married?”

  “Are we not?”

  They would be. Only if Yvenne was dead would she allow any other outcome.

  The way he looked at her, perhaps she would be dead. For there was none of the familiar heat in his gaze now as he approached her, only the same lethal fury that had filled his eyes upon their first meeting, when he’d worn his silver claws and held her throat in that deadly grip. He drew close, looking down upon her, and she felt the overwhelming menace of his great size—knew she was meant to feel it.

  Would he push her to her knees now? Make her stroke his cock again? Did he not understand yet that she would never back down?

  Her chin lifted.

  His dark gaze dropped to her mouth before meeting her eyes. His voice was a sharp blade as he said, “Every time you need rescue, another life is sacrificed for it. It was your brother’s life when you were rescued from your marriage to Toleh, and I cannot regret that. But all of Parsathe lost their queen and king when you needed rescue from your father. You would not run from the wraiths and I lost my mare. So if we are married, I fear what price Parsathe will pay for our new queen’s weakness. I wonder how many others will be sacrificed to rescue you.”

  Rendered mute by the pain tearing through her chest, Yvenne bore each word as if they were blows. Maddek could have slipped a dagger into her stomach and hurt her less. Yet she had asked for it, had she not?

  But that was not what she had expected him to say. And he could not know his words cut deeper than any others might have.

  It was not only pain, though. For her agony and her anger were always entwined—and her rage had been building through the day.

  “They pay for my rescue?” A hard, short laugh burst from her. “And what of your vengeance? Whether I ran was not the only decision made today—you made a decision to sacrifice your horse to save me. Why, except that you need to get a child upon me? Do you think this course you’ve set does not risk your warriors or your people? By Vela’s teeth, you have spoken of your hope that my father and the soldiers from the Syssian outpost will move against you upon the Burning Plains! Do you think you will face him and his soldiers alone?”

  “You think my Dragon does not know the risk? Vengeance is not mine alone,” he said coldly. “My warriors seek it, too.”

  “As do I.” For she burned with the need to see her father destroyed. Not just for herself, but to free all of Syssia from his tyranny. Yet in doing so, she risked the very people she would help—for she knew not what her father might do to them in his anger. She’d risked her brother Tyzen, who had passed information from the council to her despite the danger of discovery. She’d risked her handmaid Pym, who had sneaked out beneath Bazir’s eye to deliver her message to Maddek. “I also knew that I would pay a price for that vengeance. I knew that anyone who assisted me might pay, too. Did you not know? You will be a king. Did you not realize all of your people might pay a price for the choices you make? You are a commander who has sent warriors into battle, knowing they might not return. Did you think a quest for vengeance would be any different?”

  His brows had drawn low over his eyes, his face thunderous. “I knew what it would be. Every Parsathean warrior would give their life to avenge our queen and king—as would I. What I wonder is if you are worth the price we will pay.”

  “Then do not pay it next time! I thought you would not today. The very first day, you said you would leave me behind if I could not keep up, and that you would not risk yourself or your warriors to help me. But you did risk yourself. So either you lie to me or you lie to yourself. But I do not lie,” she continued fiercely before he could reply. “I do not need a husband; it is you who needs me to have your vengeance. To have mine, I only need a child—and a warrior’s protection and their sword, because my father will not easily relinquish Syssia’s throne. That is what I have told you from the beginning. And perhaps you will choose not to save me again. But do not fool yourself, Maddek. You have played your own part in this. It was not only my choices that brought your mare to her end.”

  His powerful body rigid with leashed tension, he stared down at her, his shadowed eyes burning with rage. Her chest heaving as if she’d been running, she did not back down or look away.

  A muscle worked in his jaw before he said, “I did make a choice. But I should not have been forced to make it. You asked for my protection and I gave it—and because I am taking you as my bride, my warriors’ duty and their protection extends to you. Your duty to them—to me—is to follow the orders that will keep you safe. Today you failed in your duty to me. And though you would be their queen, you failed in your duty to my warriors. If you fail in your duty again and my warriors sacrifice themselves to save you, I will likely kill you myself.”

  She had failed them. Not intentionally. But it had been done.

  Throat thick, she nodded. “So I did. I vow I will not fail in my duty again.”

  His gaze hardened dangerously. “Never make vows you cannot keep.”

  “I do not.” She would not. “I cannot promise to be quick or strong. I will make every effort that I can. But although I wish it otherwise, my body is not a warrior-queen’s.”

  “Or even a warrior’s. But it does not need to be. You only need to be strong enough to lie beneath me.” His mouth twisted sardonically as his gaze slipped over her form again. “Best you go and eat.”

  So she would. But there was something left unsaid. “I am sorry that your mare was lost. She seemed a fine mount.”

  “She was.” Maddek turned away. “But even a fine mount is only a tool.”

  Again, Yvenne could not decide whether he lied to himself or to her. For he obviously cared for the horse as deeply as Fassad cared for his wolves.

  But she would not challenge him on this. Not when the mare’s death was such a raw wound . . . as was the discovery of his parents’ murders. For a full turn, he’d known they were dead, but for only six days had Maddek known the reason why. Only six days had he been seeking vengeance.

  That was barely even time to stop bleeding. Surely not time enough to heal. Every sharp emotion must tear open the laceration on his heart.

  Yvenne had been seeking vengeance for years, and hers still ripped open more often than she would like.

  With a sigh, she made her way outside the stables—where she was not surprised to see Toric and Fassad waiting to escort her to the inn’s entrance. Because the warriors would perform their duty. Even if they would still not meet her eyes. Or speak to her.

  Feeling as if a blade were pressed against her heart, she followed them inside.

  CHAPTER 14

  MADDEK

  One of Maddek’s earliest lessons was th
at a warrior made use of what they had. A warrior did not wish for a sword if they only had a fist, and a warrior did not wish for a horse if they had feet. A warrior did not wish for the sun at night, but saw by the stars and the moonlight. And if there was naught to eat, a warrior did not wish for food; better to go hunting than stay wanting.

  Silver-fingered Rani would come soon enough, so a warrior never wasted time wishing for what was not.

  But a son did. As Maddek led Yvenne’s gelding to the blacksmith’s, it seemed that upon his every breath was a wish that his mother or his father walked beside him, offering their sage advice.

  For they had taught him so much. How to fight a single enemy, and how to war against legions. How to measure intentions against results, how to administer justice and mercy. How to lead warriors, how to follow his heart, how to stand for his people. How to speak and how to listen. No matter how difficult the problem, his parents’ lessons and their solutions seemed so simple.

  Yvenne was not.

  She was also not as he’d imagined a bride to be. Always he’d pictured a woman chosen for him by his mother and father. They would pick a bride who suited him, a woman who would share the same goals as he, a woman who fit into his life as smoothly as a sword into an oiled sheath.

  Yvenne was like gravel between his teeth. A splinter beneath his skin. The steel in his cock.

  She was a distraction from a simple purpose: vengeance.

  She was a distraction . . . but also a solution. Perhaps that was the true problem. He had complicated that which should be simple. A warrior made use of what he had, and Maddek had Yvenne. The best route to Zhalen was through marriage.

  She was but a tool. And between her thighs he would make use of her.

  The solution to the rest—that she would be mother to his children, that she would be queen—could come after he felt Zhalen’s blood spill over his fingers.

  For now, he would focus on his vengeance and that which was truly simple: judging a horse’s capability.